That’s worth smiling about. We’ve never done a progressive dinner for Thanksgiving before, but considering how tight we all are, it makes sense, and I’m excited.

And so, so glad for the distraction from thinking about Max.

We’ll have turkey and sweet potato casserole here at Crusty Nut. Salad and green bean casserole at Anchovies, the local pizza joint. Grady’s covering dinner rolls at Crow’s Nest, Aunt Glory has the stuffing—dressing, whatever you call it—and cranberry sauce, and Mom’s café, The Muted Parrot—and yes, we all do wish Long Beak Silver would stop talking so much—is handling pie.

Anyone without other plans in town is invited to start wherever they want along Blackbeard Avenue and enjoy Thanksgiving dinner on us.

And I’m tied up in knots hoping Max shows up.

So I need to not think about him. Enjoy the day. See all of my favorite people and play peek-a-boo with the babies and talk strategy with my teammates on our summer softball team—never too early to start planning to win against Sarcasm’s team—and help run the cookie decorating tables that Mom’s setting up at each location to keep any of the kids, teenagers, and adults busy if they don’t want to watch football or plot shopping trips in the city.

“How was your snowball fight with Max this morning, sweetie?” Mom asks.

Argh. “He bowed out of battle after realizing that even his pitcher’s arm is no match for me with a snowball in hand.” I sigh dramatically and put my hand to my forehead, alas-style. “Woe is me—I’ll never find a worthy snowball fight competitor.”

“Probably would’ve helped if he’d been wearing clothes,” Dad says.

“Oh my god, right? I asked him why he was shoveling practically naked and he said he got hot. Probably Doc should check him to see if he has a fever.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Mom leans in next to me and peers at the sweet potatoes as I dump in brown sugar and cinnamon and start whipping it all together. “Cooper’s always hot too. I think it’s all that muscle mass. It just keeps a body warmer.”

I know she’s talking scientifically, but I’m getting warmer thinking about Max’s muscles.

Hi, I’m Tillie Jean, and I’m into buff athletes.

“You’re really mad at those potatoes today, aren’t you, hon?” Dad says.

The potatoes aren’t the problem.

A limited dating pool and a guy who’s not supposed to be as attractive as he’s always been is the problem.

And knowing how much he’s overcome to be the man he is today? And that he likes me, but doesn’t want to mess up his friendship with my brother, which I totally understand?

Also knowing he probably has hang-ups about relationships that I can’t solve, because he has to do that work himself if it’s going to stick?

But I still want to make him smile. I still want to joke around with him. I want to spend time around the uninhibited, funny Max that he was at Scuttle Putt, but I don’t know if that’s the real Max Cole.

“Tillie Jean?” Mom says.

I jump.

Crap. Did it again. Disappeared into my own head.

Or my own libido.

Whatever.

“Shh. Grady talks to his dough, but I use telekinesis to communicate with the potatoes.”

“Telepathy?” Dad corrects.

Dammit. Now I’m mixing my words and not the potatoes. “Shh.”

“Yoohoo, did someone order a lonely former city girl to help in the kitchens?” Sloane calls.

And I’m saved. “Yoohoo?” I call back.

She leans over the bar and peers in the kitchen door at us with a grin. “Do you know how long I’ve been waiting to be a city girl turned country girl who calls yoohoo?”

“Tillie Jean, let the girl yoohoo if she wants to yoohoo.” Mom waves Sloane back. “Put on a hairnet and come help with the sweet potato casserole. Tillie Jean’s turning it into a murder scene.”

“Ah. Didn’t get enough snowball fight with your naked neighbor?”

“Gah.” I shove the spoon at Mom. “You finish. I’m gonna go climb the mountain and have a real snowball fight with Cooper.”

“No can do, little sister.” Cooper swings in the back door, stomps his boots off, and grins at me. “But if you’d care to join me in the square, we’ll have a snowball fight to work up an appetite.”

“Cooper! You made it.” Mom switches course in hugging Sloane to cross the kitchen and attack her baby.

“How’s the snowmobile?” Dad asks. “She start on the first try?”

They talk man-toy maintenance while Sloane joins me at the sweet potato pot. “Neighbor trouble?” she whispers.

“If he weren’t you-know-what with you-know-who, and I was visiting the city for a weekend, we would so have a fling,” I whisper back.

“We’re talking about him being teammates with SB, right?”

I assume SB means Stinky Booty, aka Cooper, so I nod.

“So pretend he’s not off-limits and see what happens.”

“Nope. Not a chance.”

“You like him. He likes you. How often does that happen?”

I almost drop the sweet potato pot as I’m lifting it to dump it into the industrial-size casserole dish.

And yeah, I’m completely blaming it on the pot being heavy and not on Sloane suggesting Max Cole likes me.

“He does not like me,” I mutter as she grips the other handle on the pan and helps me tip it over.

“He tries too hard to not like you because he knows what someone will do, given his reputation. But you know what’s interesting? He’s aware of his reputation, and he’s aware of the potential consequences to him, you, and his position if he misreads the situation and you end up wanting something more than a casual fling. Which means that if he’s willing to risk it, he thinks you’re worth the potential shit that would come if he fucks up.”

Crap.

If she can see that, who else can?

I shoot a look at my family.

Cooper’s saying something that has Dad laughing, and Mom’s shaking her head like she’d bop him with a wooden spoon for giving her a heart attack, which means he probably almost wiped out riding his snowmobile down off the mountain.

“I’d let them all down, Sloane,” I whisper.

Somehow, my parents have managed that magic trick of morphing from parental overlords to friends. Crusty Nut isn’t just the restaurant where I slave away my days, it’s part of my family too. Grady’s awesome and just down the street, and him marrying Annika brought another layer of fabulous to town. Cooper’s still one of my best friends, and it’s not only the prank wars that make me happy to see him when he comes home for the winter.

And then there’s everyone else. Old-timers and newcomers alike.

We’re family.

We’re safe.

We’re happy.

And I work my ass off to make sure we stay that way. If I treated Yiannis like competition instead of like a neighbor, one, I never would’ve had the joy of being able to have his dolma any day of the week, and two, the magic of Shipwreck would break under the tension the rivalry would bring in.

Rivalry with Sarcasm? Yes. Rivalry within Shipwreck itself? No.